#32: LITTLER WHITE LIES

AARON BURR: "Kill him? No way! Alex and I are besties!"

MAYOR OF SALEM, MA: "Witch Smitch! Salem will be synonmous with one thing and one thing only, chicken feed. We're the 6th largest city in America, and the 6th we'll stay!"

COLONIAL SETTLER: "Oh don't worry, whiny pants. It's just the sniffles. It's called smallpox - how bad could it be?"

BEN FRANKLIN: "I didn't, repeat didn't, get black out wasted on month old moonshine and crack that bell. I swear!"

#31: LITTLE WHITE LIES

(Lights up. A long line of characters. They speak.)

SMALL BRITISH BOY: Little White Lies from History. Overheard, recorded, hidden away for centuries and now dramatized before your very eyes.

GEORGE WASHINGTON: "I cannot tell a lie. No president can. He that lies shall never take this office!"

BETSY ROSS: "Thirteen makes complete sense. Anything more is overkill. Twenty? Thirty? What's next, fifty?!?! Come on, no one is that power-hungry and manipulative that they need the whole continent. Besides, that land belongs to the natives. No one in a million years would - or could for that matter - ever take that land away from them. Ever. What are we just going to say "get out" and move 'em?? Silliness."

MARTHA WASHINGTON: "In my lifetime it will be done. I can see it as clear as daylight. Two words: flying cars!"

JOHN HANCOCK: "People will get over it. It's just a last name. Society is not as juvenile as we think them to be. They'll see past the cock as see the real me."

(BETSY AND MARTHA giggle.)

LITTLE BRITISH BOY: He said cock!

TIMOTHY MIFFLIN: "I will be remembered and not overshadowed by the likes of Franklin, Adams and the rest."

GEORGE WASHINGTON: You sure will, Tom! (MARTHA whispers in his ear.) Tim!

BENEDICT ARNOLD: "Switch sides? I would never."

WILLIAM LIVINGSTON: "As the first governor of this fine state, let be known: New Jersey will rise to great triumphs. Its natural wonders, pleasant smells and friendly people will be admired forever!"

GEORGE CLINTON: "As the first governor of this fine state, let be known: New York will lead by example. No elected official in the future of my fine state will ever use a prostitute again!"

WILLIAM EWEN: "As the first governor of this fine state, Georgia, let be known: of course I know what a buffer colony is!" (He takes out a nice pair of shoes and begins buffing.)

LITTLE BRITISH BOY: Get it? He's buffing shoes, thus implying he has misunderstood the meaning of the word "buffer" in context with the colonial history of his own state! Silliness abounds everywhere. Let's take a further look.

HENRY CLAY: "With full confidence, I promise that many fine academic institutions of our newborn nation - Harvard, Yale, and the likes - will be swallowed whole and eaten up by a certain scholastic juggernaut that is sure to surpass the others in reputation, endowment, and presitge within the next five to ten years. This rising gem will leave all others in the dust. The college that I am proud to call my home away from home: Kentucky's very own, Transylvania University!"

(To be continued...)

#30: OLD MAN ANTICS

(1870. WILLIAM CANBY, the grandson of BETSY sits at the beside of HENRY, his distant relative. HENRY is 95 years old and lovin' it.)

WILLIAM: This is to be an official document. You'll have to be a little more consistent with your replies.
HENRY: (offended) Don't call me consistent!
WILLIAM: I didn't.
HENRY: You're pressing me for memories that I can't produce. But I will.
WILLIAM: Uncle Henry, that's not -
HENRY: Great uncle Henry!!
WILLIAM: (agreeing begrudgingly) Okay, great uncle Henry -
HENRY: Once removed!
WILLIAM: (more frustrated) Okay.... great uncle Henry once removed -
HENRY: Loving and literate brother to Marie Evelyn, Joseph Hunter, and the long-gone but impeccably-clean Claire Elizabeth!
WILLIAM: Loving and literate - (giving up) How about I just call you Henry, eh?
HENRY: Henry A.? Okay!
WILLIAM: Great. Now, back to your memories. This affidavit must be one hundred percent truth. They've got their fact-checkers so we must not have holes. The stories I collect from you and the others must be truth beyond any doubt. This is essential to setting the record straight and getting our family the recognition we deserve once and for all. Now tell me again your memory of how grandma came to sew the flag. Details are key.
HENRY: Funny isn't it.
WILLIAM: What is?
HENRY: If you think of it, the Civil War was not very civil. The opposite really.
WILLIAM: Are you even listening to me?
HENRY: So what does the A stand for?
WILLIAM: The A?
HENRY: Henry A. You said it yourself. Abraham I hope.
WILLIAM: Henry please. It took me weeks to track you down. I have a deadline and I need information about Betsy.
HENRY: Perhaps you'd like the signed letter in which she confesses to the world that she was the true and only designer of the flag? The signed letter that she kept hidden away the entirety of her lifetime so she could humbly sink into the shadows and collect dust before her looming and pathetic consumption by a slow and unnoticed death? The signed letter which I swore to her that I would reveal to you if you ever came looking for me wanting the truth and nothing but the truth so help you God??
WILLIAM: Yes, Henry, yes! Where is it?!?
HENRY: It's the left drawer of the desk. Run and fetch it! Before it's too late! It's right next to the sword in the stone and the jeweled treasures of Atlantis.
WILLIAM: Shame on you!
HENRY: Bah! The list of things that I've convinced people are in that drawer! Letters, midgets, more drawers. I could go on forever.
WILLIAM: Take this seriously. This is serious stuff!
HENRY: Here we go. Why should I take anything seriously? I've lived more life than anyone I know. And lived it well. Fact and fiction are the same when you've lived what's I've lived. I'll go out laughing or I won't go out. Take that seriously!
WILLIAM: Just tell me the story as your remember it, the one you said you knew by heart, so I can write it down and leave.
HENRY: You want the story? Fine: it was a Tuesday. I was young. Definitely five or six or seven maybe. There was an argument going on between your grandmother Betsy and my mom, Aunt Catherine. Or was her cousin Judith, yes her, the one who was your sister. But most likely in all actuality, it was my uncle Anthony, the short round one. Anyhoo, I was out in the yard playing make believe 'cos it was Wednesday.
WILLIAM: Wednesday or Tuesday?
HENRY: That's right. And I swear as strong as the sun is shining east, I hear your grandma scream at the top of her lungs: I'm a LIAR, a next-to-nothing LIAR! I can't sew, I can't read. I love juggling and pottery!

(Beat)

WILLIAM: Thanks for nothing Henry.
HENRY: You betchya. Screaming crazy Betsy Ross. There's your proof or your money back.
WILLIAM: I'll remember to quote you in court when the suited cynics are breathing down my neck. It'll come in handy.
HENRY: I wasn't there, okay. I mean I was, but I wasn't.
WILLIAM: Do old people not have eardrums? Can they not hear themselves and their constant contradictions?
HENRY: The civil war was civil. Anyone who says otherwise should be drawn and quartered. Anyhoo -
WILLIAM: Anyhoo is right.
HENRY: Hmm? You've lost me. Anyhoo?
WILLIAM: You can't lose the lost. If you'll excuse me, I have to catch a train to Albany.
HENRY: Tell Martha I say hello. Hope your school project turns out decent. I'm sure you'll get an A.
WILLIAM: I'm twenty-seven years old in two weeks.
HENRY: Twenty-seven? Geesh, well, aim for a hundred next time. The teacher will forgive and forget.
WILLIAM: Yes, the teacher... I should be going.
HENRY: I'll probably die before I see you next. Or not. So anyhoo, thanks for the company.
WILLIAM: Can I have my pen please?
HENRY: I gotta sign that affidavit if it's to hold up in court. I've seen a thing or two.
WILLIAM: Of course you have. Here you are.

(He tears a blank piece of paper from his book. HENRY signs it.)

HENRY: Knock 'em dead! Tell him Henry A. sent you!
WILLIAM: A great uncle once removed. That's for certain.

(WILLIAM rushes out of the room.)

HENRY: (suddenly full of passion:) You want the truth!? You want the truth??? You can't handle the Truth!

(Silence. He relaxes again.)

HENRY: Unexplained and bizarre event of my life number 43,209. That's gotta be a record.

WEIRD BLACKOUT FOR A WEIRD PLAY

#29: REALITY CHECK

(The PLAYWRIGHT and BETSY stand on a large empty stage.)

PLAYWRIGHT: I overestimated my will power, I understimated my free time, and I just don't think I can do this every day.

BETSY: You need to calm down. You're only human.

(pause.)

PLAYWRIGHT: Wrong on both accounts.

(The PLAYWRIGHT's massive dragon wings and dragon tail break through his human clothing. He screams the high-pitched scream of an eight year old girl who is determined to shatter glass. A car alarm sounds. The PLAYDRAGON flies effortlessly over the audience and out the lobby door narrowly missing a frightened house manager. Somewhere a baby cires. BETSY is confused.)

BETSY: Deja Vu.

BLACKOUT

#28: PENGUINS VS. BABY ELEPHANTS

(An audience enters a theater. They sit down and open their programs. Inside, there is a note from the PLAYWRIGHT and nothing else.)

"Dear Audience Member(s):

Penguins versus Baby Elephants.

I wrote this title as a space filler to make it look like I was going to write a play on Friday March 7th, 2008. The title represents a silly but ongoing debate that I've been having with two high school friends for a few years now. After I went out to dinner for chimichangas and over-priced margaritas with these good friends, I returned home with the intent to write a play about Betsy Ross. I had a title that I posted hours before, but no play and no plot. Perhaps I would flesh out Betsy's opinions on the penguin vs. elephant debate - or even better (!) put her on the newly formed board of directors of a colonial zoo that is debating which animals to collect for its inaugural zoo collection. Betsy would probably get mad at someone for no reason and release a tiger on his or her ass!

I could have, I could have, but I didn't.

Instead, I chose sleep. (gasp) I never wrote the play. I awoke refreshed on Sat. 3/8 determined to write the missing play and ready to write a new one, but I got lazy and am dealing with this whole mess today, Monday 3/10.

ALSO, I don't care what anyone says: a Baby Elephant would be a horrible and smelly choice for a pet. CLEARLY, if forced to domesticate, raise, and live with either a penguin or a baby elephant, a majority of the free world would side with me and choose the penguin. They may be flightless and dress in "mini-tuxedos" (two "great" "arguments" against me from my competition in this debate), but no, no, and not at all. Penguins would make awesome companions. Baby elephants have nothing to offer the world but poo and the harsh reality that they will inevitably grow up to become actual adult elephants. Anyone who thinks a pet baby elephant would act like Disney's Dumbo is dead wrong. Dead wrong.

What a horrible pet a baby elephant would be. Sorry Laura, you're just wrong.

- PLAYWRIGHT"

(The audience is confused about this note and worried about the PLAYWRIGHT; they wonder who the hell Laura is. Then they stop caring. Each member of the audience is distracted by some trivial and unrelated thought. Maybe yesterday's news or a sudden craving for a Twix bar. They exit the theater in turn. They throw their programs in the trash bins in the lobby. BETSY is hidden somewhere eating a chimichanga. We can't see her, but we know she's there.)

BLACKOUT

#27: A CONVERSATION WITH PAUL BUNYAN

(The upper branches of the tallest tree. The fingers of the giant right hand of PAUL BUNYAN are firmly wrapped around BETSY. PAUL places her onto a sturdy tree limb. A flock of birds flees the tree; this startles BETSY. PAUL BUNYAN squats and his giant face stares face-to-face with BETSY's. He speaks with a low, deflated voice.)

BETSY: Sorry about that. Where were we?

PAUL B: You were saying that you thought I was unqualified.

BETSY: Right.

PAUL B: Unsuited for this job.

BETSY: Yes, about that. We're looking for someone whose heart lies in the details of the craft. You're just so, well, forgive me: large.

PAUL B: You invited me here to have a conversation. I didn't think it was going to be an actual interview. I would have prepared!

BETSY: Forsight is the keystone of upholstery.

PAUL B: I threw together a resume while you were on the ground.

BETSY: I'll give it a look-see. Since you did make such a long trip down here. I suppose it won't hurt me.

PAUL B: Thank you.

(PAUL hands BETSY a huge piece of paper with ease. She struggles to hold it. Its weight and size overpower her and she topples down to a lower branch.)

BETSY: Ow!

PAUL B: Oopsies.

BETSY: No worries. It happens to everyone...

(BETSY stands up and examines the resume.)

BETSY: So Paul, care to explain to me how any of these "accomplishments" make you in any way qualified for this line of work?

PAUL B: Well, um. Inadvertently making ten thousand lakes was kinda cool. It taught me about nature I guess. And being a good team player and goal-setting. And recessing -

BETSY: Surpassing.

PAUL B: - those goals. Whatever.

BETSY: I think this about concludes our conversation.

PAUL B: Interview, just admit it!

BETSY: We come from different worlds.

PAUL B: I like plaid. That's upholstery right?

BETSY: Right... well, I don't wish to keep you from your buffalo.

PAUL B: Ox.

BETSY: Whatever.

PAUL B: I could be a huge asset to your business. A HUGE asset.

BETSY: This I know. You'll have to excuse me. I have another appointment.

PAUL B: I'm sure that regular-sized non-freak will be perfect for the job.

BETSY: Now, Paul -

PAUL B: Thanks for nothing!

(PAUL angrily walks the walk of a giant. He is gone. BETSY assesses her situation and begins to cautiously climb down the tree. A squirrel throws an acorn at her.)

BLACKOUT

#26: NORTHWARD HO!

(BETSY has fallen asleep on a makeshift bench on a dirt road just outside of Philadelphia. She clutches two small suitcases and is sleeping soundly. An OFFICER approaches her.)

OFFICER: Yet another one. Miss, MISS. Wake up.
BETSY: (in her sleep) Let me see... they all smell so good...
OFFICER: Wake up, Miss.
BETSY: (in her sleep) I'll have the strudel this time...
OFFICER: Miss, you need to wake up -

(The OFFICER goes to shake her awake. She snaps to life just before he makes contact.)

BETSY: Wha, who, oh!
OFFICER: You were asleep miss. On this bench.
BETSY: So I was. Not anymore. Thank you for your help officer.
OFFICER: My my my, how long were you out for? You were dreaming deep about pasteries or something.
BETSY: I, I don't know. Well, what time is it now?
OFFICER: Let me see. It was one p.m. when I got to McCarthy's. I spent awhile there because it's Saturday and we always get slippy on Saturdays. That puts it at half past five p.m. when I left McCarthy's. And that was a solid two hours ago.
BETSY: Half past five - two hours ago?!?
OFFICER: Probably puts it at about seven p.m. No, seven thirty p.m. right now. Something like that. Feels right to me. Sun's setting.
BETSY: I've been stood up!
OFFICER: Now who would stand such a pretty sight up?
BETSY: My stupid brother.
OFFICER: Oh! (Beat.) Oh I see. Well, to each his own. Or her own as the case may be. How long have you two been open about this?
BETSY: Open about - Gross! He's my brother
OFFICER: I see this all the time. No need to be ashamed. He'll come to his senses and take you back.
BETSY: (Spelling it out clearly.) I was waiting on this bench for my brother and his wife to pick me up. We are spending the week in New York.
OFFICER: Oh! (Beat.) Oh I see. Well, that's now a new one, but pretty darn exciting. Good for you three to have found one another.
BETSY: Look, the last time I checked it wasn't illegal to be sitting on a bench, so if you'll excuse me, I am going to sit some more until they show up.
OFFICER: About that. It actually is illegal now. This is a public road. You've been inactive. So that's loitering. It's the newest law as of about half past three yesterday.
BETSY: Loitering?
OFFICER: Loitering. Fact: people standing still get into trouble. We're done with trouble in this city.
BETSY: For your information, I'm very well connected here. I'm going to have a few words about this "law" when I'm back from New York.
OFFICER: By all means, feel free to. But in the meantime, I'm under strict orders to take all necessary action to deal with any loiterers.
BETSY: Is waiting for an overdue carriage a crime?
OFFICER: Sounds like a question a loiterer would ask, doesn't it?
BETSY: What? Look, I may be at the wrong bench, I will try the one further down the road in case they're waiting there.
OFFICER: Two counts of loitering if you do that. We'll be talking jail time.
BETSY: If you persist with this I will see to it that I write a series of strong letters to the right people that will leave you without job by month's end. We don't want that now, now do we?
OFFICER: No we don't. (He takes out a large book and a pen with ink. He writes.) One count of loitering. One count of plotting to loiter. And one count of threatening an officer. Three counts at seven thirty p.m. Perhaps seven twenty-five.
BETSY: Did Hamilton put you up to this?
OFFICER: We are required to keep a written record for when it goes to trial.
BETSY: While you're at it, don't forget about the bank I robbed last Tuesday, or the church I lit ablaze.
OFFICER: (He is writing furiously.) How do you spell ablaze?

(We hear the sounds of a horse-driven carriage rapidly approaching from offstage. BETSY collects her belongings and looks with great anticipation in the direction of the noise.)

OFFICER: So we're looking at five separate charges here. Two of which are accompanied by documented confessions. Please sign here.
BETSY: I'll be in New York buying Dutch shoes and eating fine foods. Feel free to send the state militia after me.

(The carriage enters and stops. BETSY jumps inside. It quickly exits. A cloud of hoof-induced dirt hangs in the air.)

OFFICER: (writing in his book) Charge number six. Fleeing the scene of a crime. (He closes the book and packs up.) She'll soon be America's most wanted. (Beat.) If only I knew her name....

BLACKOUT

#25: NUMBER FOURTEEN

(March 4, 1791. Montpelier. BETSY and MS. DAVIS stare out the window listening to the crowds of dozens on the street below.)

CROWD A: We want a new name!
CROWD B: New Connecticut's lame!
CROWD A: We want a new name!
CROWD B: New Connecticut's lame!

(BETSY slams the window shut.)

BETSY: They're relentless.
MS. DAVIS: Must you really be slamming things like that?
BETSY: Ruthless really. They wouldn't have lasted two minutes at the '87 Convention before being shown the door.
MS. DAVIS: It's right over there. I suggest you use it!
BETSY: Oh Marjorie please.
MS. DAVIS: You're behaving like my husband.
BETSY: Thank you.

MS. DAVIS: You're so worked up. I've never see you like this.
BETSY: I'm nervous.
MS. DAVIS: They'll have this territory named by tea time. Then we can go celebrate. Jacob hired a band of drifters. They're quite good really.
BETSY: Who knows I'm here?
MS. DAVIS: Everyone does. Absolutely everyone in New Connecticut. Jacob wanted you here to be recognized for this.
BETSY: I've made a huge mistake.
MS. DAVIS: Compose yourself. You're acting like a chipmunk.
BETSY: Tell them I'm ill. Tell them I've left. Don't force me to face them.
MS. DAVIS: You should be proud. Let me see your sketch.

(MS. DAVIS crossed to the giant easel that's been hiding in the corner of the room. BETSY intercepts her - physically.)

MS. DAVIS: My heavens!
BETSY: No, it's not ready yet.
MS. DAVIS: Chipmunk chipmunk in my way.
BETSY: Look, Marjorie, I kinda just threw this together. I never anticipated we'd have more than thirteen.
MS. DAVIS: Don't say that in front of Jacob. He's put his blood into this place and won't rest until it's signed into Statehood.
BETSY: Fourteen is such a clunky number. Aesthetically speaking.
MS. DAVIS: How hard can it be to throw one measly star on? Let me take a look at the sketch, it can't be that bad.

(MS. DAVIS forces her way through BETSY.)

BETSY: Marjorie, no!

(MS. DAVIS eyes the sketch of the next flag of the United States of America. It's horrific.)

MS. DAVIS: ...
BETSY: I warned you.
MS. DAVIS: You intend to sew that?
BETSY: It's just a sketch. An idea. I didn't plan on their being a fourteenth when I planned the original.
MS. DAVIS: You didn't plan? You didn't plan!? (She runs to the window and opens it.) Here that boys and girls. Betsy Ross didn't plan!
CROWD MEMBER: Who what now?
BETSY: That is highly uncalled for...
MS. DAVIS: You listen and listen good chipmunk. New Connecticut is why my husband gets himself out of bed every morning. New Connecticut is why I've been parading around this place from town to town spreading pamphlets like Thomas Paine in a room full of literates. New Connecticut is why I have been without love-making for two soon to be three months.
BETSY: Marjorie, you're over-
MS. DAVIS: We didn't pay you talk. We didn't pay you to whine. We paid you to adapt and redesign your precious little baby... because God forbid anyone else sews a measly little star on the brainchild of world renown artiste Betsy Ross!!
BETSY: It's not like that.
MS. DAVIS: Your sketch is insulting to my husband and to this soon-to-be-State.
BETSY: You put so much pressure on me.
MS. DAVIS: You make me want to vomit.

(JACOB bursts in the room; he radiates pride.)

JACOB: Vermont!
MS. DAVIS: No honey. I said vomit.
JACOB: And I, Vermont! We have a name, we're a state. Betsy, the gang is dying to meet you. Cannot wait to see what you've done with the thing. Marjorie, you look - splendid. (He winks.)

BETSY: I have a sketch I can show them... it'll have to do.
JACOB: Great. See you girls down there!

(JACOB exits.)

BETSY: You know, you said some awful things to me that I would never in a million years say to you.
MS. DAVIS: Yeah, well, welcome to Vermont, Betsy!

BETSY: What does that mean?
MS. DAVIS: See you downstairs chipmunk. If you know what's good for you, you'll whip up a sketch that approaches decency. I'll be at the bar looking "splendid". (To herself:) Tonight's the night.

(MS. DAVIS exits. BETSY tears the sketch off the easel and begins drawing a new flag. We hear:)

CROWD MEMBER: We got a new name guys.

CROWD A: Yeah!

CROWD MEMBER: So we're done. Just like that?

CROWD MEMBER: Yeah, it looks that way.

CROWD MEMBER: Let's go home.

CROWD B: Okay. Good idea.

BLACKOUT

#24: WEEKEND @ BETSY'S

(1783. A cold night in Philadelphia. JOHN CLAYPOOLE, a recently released prisoner of war, sits anxiously in BETSY's living room.)

BETSY: Thanks for bringing his belongings by, it's nice to have the closure.
CLAYPOOLE: I imagine it must be.
BETSY: You really should consider staying: it's a nightmare out there.
CLAYPOOLE: I couldn't ma'am. I have some family that I need to see up the River.
BETSY: Of course you do. I'm sure your children and wife have been missing you these years. They deserve every minute with you that they can get.
CLAYPOOLE: Yes well, no. Just brothers. And some cousins are there for the season. A camp up the river. We built it.
BETSY: Oh, I'm sorry.
CLAYPOOLE: It's a decent camp for what it is.
BETSY: No, about your family. I just assumed.
CLAYPOOLE: Apologize not. I have a lot to be grateful for.
BETSY: That you do.
CLAYPOOLE: I'm alive aren't I? (Beat.) That was ill-timed.

BETSY: Joseph was my second, you know. My first was John.

CLAYPOOLE: I don't mean to bring this up. It must be late. I should be on my way.
BETSY: Widowed once, it's a tragedy. Widowed twice, it's a curse, right?
CLAYPOOLE: Yes. (Unsure what to say) God's work is something.
BETSY: Oh there I go again, running my mouth. It's not your fault, you couldn't have saved him. I know that. I didn't intend to make you feel uncomfortable about all this. I've had my grieving.
CLAYPOOLE: You don't run your mouth.
BETSY: Thanks, but what else can one say at this juncture?

CLAYPOOLE: He wanted me to meet you. Said we'd all make a night of it one night playing cards. We always talked about it. We'd come to Philadelphia, play a good card game, and drink some great whiskey.

BETSY: Quite the competitor. No match for me of course.
CLAYPOOLE: That's what he said.

BETSY: It's hard to wrap my mind around it.
CLAYPOOLE: I know the sentiment.
BETSY: To sail out one day and never come back like that.
CLAYPOOLE: You know what they say about war.

BETSY: John Claypoole.
CLAYPOOLE: Yes ma'am?
BETSY: Funny name.
CLAYPOOLE: It's the only one I have.

BETSY: It'd mean the world to me if you would come back next week and tell me stories about the final year in the life of my second husband.

CLAYPOOLE: Stories?

BETSY: Anything. What he talked about in there with you, the jokes he tried to pull. The fights. Nothing fancy. Anything will do. Just to fill in the blanks and put this away.
CLAYPOOLE: It would be my pleasure.
BETSY: I must warn you though. You'll be dead by May with my track record.
CLAYPOOLE: Good fortune always comes to those in need.
BETSY: I'm not a fairy tale. I'll be okay.

CLAYPOOLE: I should really go. Will you sleep soon?
BETSY: I have some projects to keep me up. Then I'll sleep.
CLAYPOOLE: Thank you for your cake.
BETSY: It's fresh. Welcome back Mr. Claypoole. Enjoy your time up the river.
CLAYPOOLE: Just a few days really. Then I'll be back in the city.

BETSY: So Friday it is.
CLAYPOOLE: Yes. Friday works.
BETSY: Now leave my house before you die too.
CLAYPOOLE: Oh, I'm sorry -
BETSY: Just a game John. My apologies.

CLAYPOOLE: I'll think up those stories.
BETSY: I'd like that.
CLAYPOOLE: Could I grab another loaf of cake for Herbert?
BETSY: Brother?
CLAYPOOLE: Horse.
BETSY: Of course.

BETSY: There you are.
CLAYPOOLE: Goodnight.
BETSY: Until Friday.

(JOHN exits. BETSY returns to her projects.)

BLACKOUT

#23: LES MISERABETSY

(Exit JAVERT SR. BETSY is left alone, unemployed and destitute.)

BETSY

There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong

I sew'ed a flag in years gone by
When threads were fine
And flags worth raising
I sew'ed a flag that should not die
I sew'ed so George would keep on gazing
Then I was deft and unathritis'd
The States were new 'n fresh, not yet wasted
There was no epidemic encephalitis
No flags were burned, no wine untasted

But the rumors come at night
With their howls blunt as butter
As they tear your reputation apart
And they turn your name to shame

They slept many summers by my side
They filled my days and/or nights with endless wonder
They took my late adolescence/early adulthood/and womanhood with their strides
But they were gone when Betsy woke up

And still I dream they'll come back to me
The many men I've loved now and forever
George, Tom, Patrick and the team
Each I loved freely where or whenever

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this heck I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now poor choices have killed the flag I sew'ed.

BLACKOUT

#22: THE MAN WHO PLANTED TREES

(The woods. BETSY and JOHNNY APPLESEED sit on a log and talk.)

BETSY: Tell me a story Johnny.

JOHHNY: (garbled as he is eating an apple) What kind of story do you want to hear?

BETSY: Chew then talk honey.

JOHHNY: (still garbled) Sorry.

BETSY: Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.

(BETSY smiles. JOHNNY finishes chewing and swallows. BETSY stares at him longingly.)

BETSY: You're so brave. And strong. Going into unknown lands like you did and killing anyone and everyone who stood in your way.

JOHNNY: No. I mean yes, I suppose what I did was brave in a way. But Betsy -

BETSY: I love your muscles!

JOHNNY: You do? Thanks, I don't get that a lot... As I was saying, you have to realize: I've never killed a soul. I never would. I never could.

BETSY: I know that's what you have to say to protect yourself and whoever you work for, but I've heard the tales Johnny A. People talk.

JOHNNY: Mere legends, Betsy.

BETSY: Yes sir, Captain Modesty. I understand. (She whispers flirtatiously) We all have our secrets.

JOHNNY: Legends live and legends breathe. Then people wake up and legends die.

BETSY: Oh my, a warrior and a poet too!

JOHNNY: According to legend an apple started the Trojan war, did you know that? But it didn't. People did.

BETSY: Oh, a scholar! Kidnap me and call me Helen!

JOHNNY: Huh what?

BETSY: There are so many apples in your bag Johnny Appleseed.

(BETSY grabs an apple and takes a huge bight. She chews it slowly.)

JOHNNY: The Bible never even mentions an apple in the Garden, just a fruit. It wasn't until Renaissance painters starting painting apples that we began to tell the story that way. People just change history - religion even! - to make it their own. Who can say what's even real?

BETSY: (garbled as she is still chewing) A warrior, a poet, a scholar, and philosopher too. Betsy likes.

JOHNNY: You give me too much credit. I plant seeds Betsy. I walk around, I dig holes and I plant seeds with some skewed hope that they'll become trees. You seem to think I'm some suave Don Juan or Herakles. I'm not Michelangelo. I'm John Chapman. All I do, all I've done is plant goddamn apple seeds. Pardom my language. It's great that you think I'm something more, but when I kneel down and splash my face in the Mississippi River do you know who stares back at me? A tall and lanky introvert from Leominster, Massachusetts named Appleseed. When my day comes and I'm standing on a cloud before the pearly Gates, I'm not sure if a lifetime of planting fruit tress is going to have done me much good. At least you've actually accomplished something measurable, something tangible.

BETSY: Apples are tangible!

JOHNNY: People eat apples. Squirrels eat apples. Worms. Apples get made into pies.

BETSY: I love apple pie. Almost as much as I love -

JOHHNY: You're not even listening. You could never understand.

BETSY: Tell me what was it was like to take a human life.
JOHNNY: Have you heard a single word that I've spoken to you Betsy?

BETSY: You're so wise and strong. A legend for the ages.

(Pause.)

JOHNNY: Hade me my oversized sack of apples. I should be leaving now.

BETSY: I like when you play hard to get.

(JOHNNY sighs, grabs his apples and walks towards the forrest. He pauses for a moment.)

JOHNNY: Did you know the poison of a single appleseed is harmless to a human if consumed, but if enough appleseeds are ingested one would experience the toxic effects?

BETSY: A scientist too! Johnny Appleseed, is there anything you can't do?

(JOHNNY disappears into the trees. BETSY bights into her apple.)

BETSY: Yuck. A worm.

(She chucks it into the woods and exits.)

BLACKOUT

#21: FEBRUARY 29, 1790

(Philadelphia, 1790. Early morning. BETSY'S living room. The house is silent. Then at the front door: Knock knock. Long silence. Knock Knock. Again, silence. Knock Knock. BETSY enters down the stairs with bed hair. She's very sensitive to light. She wears slippers.)

BETSY: Okay. Hold your horses. I'm coming.

(Knock knock.)

BETSY: You're knocking. I hear you.

(Knock knock.)

BETSY: More knocking. This better be grand to wake me up at the crack of - (she opens the door) George!
GEORGE: Betsy. You're late.
BETSY: You'll have to excuse me, my manners left me. Mr. President.
GEORGE: I see that you are not yet ready for the day. This move. Not a wise one.
BETSY: Ready? Why be ready? I was sleeping.
GEORGE: The Census Act. We were set to announce it today. Your second claim to fame. That you all but begged me for.
BETSY: Mr. President - how do I say this respectfully: That's tomorrow.
GEORGE: If by tomorrow you mean today, then yes it is tomorrow.
BETSY: Okay, listen to me: I sewed the perfect dress. I've been counting the days. Being the national figureheard of this Census is set to ensure me as a household namesake, I wouldn't just oversleep!
GEORGE: This is coming from the woman who is wearing her nightgown and rubbing sleep residue out of her eyes twenty minutes after she is due downtown?
BETSY: We agreed by written letter I would meet you at courthouse. We agreed!
GEORGE: That we did.
BETSY: And you told me how proud you were to give me this honor. Just like the flag gig.
GEORGE: That I did.
BETSY: Okay then. So why are you here a day early?
GEORGE: A day early? Your humor - it - it's lost on me.
BETSY: George: we planned this down to the needle and thread. We agreed - mutually - that I would meet you on the 1st of March.
GEORGE: Thank you Betsy. So you admit you failed?
BETSY: Failed? How could I fail to meet you on March 1st when it's still February.
GEORGE: Still February?
BETSY: It's the 29th, we meet in just under twenty-four hours. I may be known to take a long time to get ready, but even I think I can pull it off with a full day of prep time!
GEORGE: The bitter irony...
BETSY: What bitter irony?
GEORGE: O. to think that I was going to bestow this Great Honor of spear-heading the 1st ever Census of these United States, one of the most logistically challenging and detail-driven projects ever to be carried out by the human species to someone so very tragically flawed by her sense of numbers and logistics.
BETSY: Tragically flawed? Numbers and logisitcs? Why do you speak like this?
GEORGE: I will say it once and only once.
BETSY: Yes, Mr. President...
GEORGE: 1790 is not a leap year.
BETSY: God save me! No! I'll run upstairs, I can be corsetted and ready for the public in forty minutes, no, thirty minutes.

(BETSY, realizing her gross error, bolts to the stairs to her bedroom to quickly get ready.)

GEORGE: I'm afraid it's too late.
BETSY: I can still do this.
GEORGE: There will be a Census Betsy. It will be done.
BETSY: Okay...
GEROGE: You are removed from the project.
BETSY: You can't.
GEORGE: You no longer - count.
BETSY: I count. I have to! Let me just throw the dress on and -
GEORGE: Silly Betsy! You threw it all away.
BETSY: The Census of 1790 was my ticket to the top, George. I need this.

GEORGE: Do something useful and sew yourself a calendar.

BLACKOUT

#20: BETSY DOES A FOCUS GROUP

(Lights up. A clean and tidy focus group room. The focus group LEADER, PARTICIPANT #1, PARTICIPANT #2, and BETSY sit around the table.)

LEADER: My job today is to ask you questions. Your job is to respond.
#1: Easy.
#2: Sounds like a plan.
BETSY: I’m not sold.

LEADER: I was hired by a company to ask you a series of questions – to collect information really. Then I will report this information back to the company.
#1: You can ask me what underwear I buy, as long as I get my check!
#2: Yeah, fire away when ready.
LEADER: Okay. Let’s begin. What is your honest and immediate response to this image.

(He holds up a picture of a beautiful field of cut grass on a warm spring day.)

BETSY: I can see right through this.
#1: It looks like upstate New York.
#2: Totally! It’s like this place in the Catskills.
BETSY: Stop right there citizens. Do not reveal a sentence more. Don’t you see, can’t you see what he’s trying to do here?
#1: Um, show us pictures. We seem them.
#2: Pay us money. And we’ll see that!
LEADER: Now now. It’s a little more complicated than that. My job takes time and thought… hours of preparation and years of experience.
BETSY: You Brit! I can smell it on him. He's trying to infiltrate!

(Awkward pause.)

LEADER: As I said, I was hired by a specific company.
BETSY: A specific company, eh? Could it be the East India Company!?!
#1: East India?
#2: Dun Dun duh!
BETSY: I was there in Boston. I saw that tea sink! If the British think they can spy on us and force there way back in, then, well, they don’t know who they’re dealing with.
LEADER: You’re really making it hard for me to my job - (reading from her name placard) Betsy.
BETSY: It’s Elizabeth.
#1: Show us more pictures.
#2: Yeah, focus this group dude
BETSY: (BETSY covers her face with a piece of paper so the LEADER can’t see her speak to #1 and #2) Don’t give any more information to this man. They want their land. They want their power. We will not surrender. (Then loudly to the room:) If we don’t hang together, we’ll all hang separately!
LEADER: Moving on. Here’s the next picture.

(He holds up a picture of a bumble bee nested on a single red rose.)

LEADER: If this picture could represent a product, what product would it represent?
#1: A bug zapper.
#2: 1-800-FLOWERS.
BETSY: There will be no taxation without representation!
LEADER: Alright Betsy –
BETSY: ELIZABETH!
LEADER: Of course, Elizabeth… you are making this impossible for me. I am obviously not British. And I am not trying to take away your government.
BETSY: I lived the times that tried men’s souls. I will NOT live them again. Give me your weapons!
LEADER: I have a mechanical pencil and digital watch. Which do you want first?
BETSY: Don’t tread on me!
#1: I bet this is part of it all. They want to see how we react.
#2: Totally! Psychological study type a thing. Focus groups are awesome.
BETSY: You cannot buy a government, you have to build it!
LEADER: This is ridiculous. You are fixated on historical lines, cliché ones at that, for no apparent reason.
BETSY: Oh there’s a reason!
#1: Yeah there is.
#2: Obviously. Focus group!
LEADER: What’s your reason, Elizabeth?
BETSY: My reason is: I was there...

(The actors stand up and freeze in position. The set breaks apart and weird revolutionary flashback music plays. In slow motion the four characters take out a single piece of period clothing and put it on; they are transformed. It is now 1773. Centuries before the focus group, we find ourselves on the deck of the Dartmouth in Boston Harbor on the verge of a soon to be infamous “party”.)

To be continued…
BLACKOUT

#19: TWO BROKEN FUSES

(Lights up. 2008. A Manhattan office place. Cubicles, chairs, and people.)

CO-WORKER: I was playing Jeopardy before online with my mom at work - I mean she's at home, but I'm at work - obviously - so we're playing Jeopardy 'cos what else would I be doing here right, you know? Right?
PLAYWRIGHT: Right, I know...
CO-WORKER: And the question or - excuse me the "Answer" - was all about um, like on what day do Americans flock to Betsy Ross' house - and I was like OH MY GOD, I don't know! But I thought you would. I just thought it was weird after we were just like talking about your weird plays -
PLAYWRIGHT: Flag Day.
CO-WORKER: Oh My God! How did you know that?
PLAYWRIGHT: Lucky guess, I guess.

(The CO-WORKER begins her inept attempt to fix a paper jam at the printer.)

CO-WORKER: So, the play-a-day thing. She sewed the flag. We get it!
PLAYWRIGHT: Yeah, but we know nothing else about her.
CO-WORKER: Good, who cares. So what.
PLAYWRIGHT: So I can pretty much make her do anything.
CO-WORKER: You're officially weird. Isn't this every day thing going to get really old like really fast? Do it like once a month. Max.
PLAYWRIGHT: I can do it.

CO-WORKER: AH! This stupid printer always breaks! "Fuser Error"? What the F is the fuser?
PLAYWRIGHT: I'll Google it. (Pause.) Okay. Done. It's a "pair of heated rollers". In the printer.
CO-WORKER: Obviously. It's freakin'crazy we can't even get a printer that works here. It's embarrassing.

MYSTERIOUS VOICE: I'll fix it.
PLAYWRIGHT: (to the CO-WORKER) I didn't know you could fix a fuser.
CO-WORKER: Um, I didn't say I could smart ass. She did.

(The CO-WORKER points to where the MYSTERIOUS VOICE came from. There stands BETSY with a toolbelt. She pulls out a screwdriver. The PLAYWRIGHT is shell-shocked; the CO-WORKER views her to be nothing out of the ordinary.)

BETSY: (with unjustified ominous intent) That's right. I can fix any fuser.
PLAYWRIGHT: (secretly) This is against the rules. You can't just show up like this. We have an arrangement.

BETSY: Had my dear friend. Had.
CO-WORKER: OMG, you're the new tech girl right? When you're done here could you like pop by my desk. Whenever I run like lots of things, um, like Facebook and MySpace and then like open up a new tab on Firefox: it freezes.
BETSY: Surely. I'll be right there.. (searching for her name) Bla-Marrr-Nanc-Cath-Ju-Ja-Jah?
CO-WORKER: Jennifer... it's um, just Jennifer.
BETSY: Right. So it is. So it is. I'm just Betsy.
CO-WORKER: Just like his lame ass plays. Betsy. Tell her all about 'em Shakespeare.

(The CO-WORKER walks back to her desk. BETSY raises her screwdriver as if to attack. The PLAYWRIGHT disarms her.)

PLAYWRIGHT: I think it's best if you fix the fuser and leave.
BETSY: Lame ass plays, eh? That nine-to-fiver calling me lame. Is a lifetime of sewing lame, huh? Are these calloused hands that bled for our counry lame? Answer me that Jennifer!
PLAYWRIGHT: Breathe B, Breathe.
BETSY: Write me unlame words. Prove her wrong.
PLAYWRIGHT: The fuser B, the fuser.
BETSY: Prove me right.

PLAYWRIGHT: The printer, the fuser...

(BETSY lowers her safety goggles. She removes a bigger screwdriver and a mini-handsaw from her toolbelt. She - a product of the 18th century - examines the printer - a product of the 21st century. She feigns expertise and begins to "fix" the fuser with her tools. The PLAYWRIGHT can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.)

BLACKOUT

#18: FALSE PROMISES

(A cabin. BETSY sits in a rocking chair by the fireplace; it and she are rocking. A YOUNG CHILD lies on the floor sewing, as all young children are prone to do in their free time.)

(Long silence.)

YOUNG CHILD: I'm going to sew a new flag every single day!!

(BETSY chuckles.)

YOUNG CHILD: Why the chuckle, Betsy?
BETSY: My dear one, you have so much left to learn.
YOUNG CHILD: But I'm going to do it, Betsy. And do it well! A flag every single day of the year, every year until I die!

(BETSY chuckles some more.)

YOUNG CHILD: Again with your chuckling. Why Betsy Ross, why?
BETSY: Life will surely get in the way. It always does.
YOUNG CHILD: But I promise. And a promise is a promise is a promise. Quote me on that one, Betsy Ross. Quote me.

(BETSY thinks long and hard about what she's heard. She moves to say something important; then she chuckles.)

YOUNG CHILD: This is becoming a pattern. A deliberate one. You chuckle at everything I say. Why Betsy Ross, why?
BETSY: Because for a short while there - a mere second, a flames's flicker in time - I almost believed you.
YOUNG CHILD: You still can! A flag every day.
BETSY: I'm sorry my dear one, but I believe and believe strongly that you will inevitably - (Beat.) you know what? I'm going to go make tea. Some hot tea with sugar. Yes.
YOUNG CHILD: You were about to say something, Betsy. That you believed me? That's all I need and I can do this thing. A flag every day if you believe me Betsy. I promise.
BETSY: A hot cup of tea will have me sleeping in no time. (She goes to exit.) A flag every day... so long you.

(BETSY disappears behind the kitchen door. She chuckles wildly as the YOUNG CHILD sews.)

YOUNG CHILD: Four consecutive chuckles. Dang it. That's a new record.

(The flames in the fireplace and the dreams of the YOUNG CHILD diminish slowly and then...)

BLACKOUT

#17: PLAYLESS TITLES

(The PLAYWRIGHT is asleep at his desk. BETSY jumps out from behind the curtains and wakes him up with her scolding.)

BETSY: What's with all the titles and pictures and no plays you lazy ass?
PLAYWRIGHT: What? Oh, I've been busy...
BETSY: You've got more excuses than the Pilgrims had turkeys!
PLAYWRIGHT: That's pretty generic for a supposedly stinging insult.
BETSY: You're the writer. Don't blame me.
PLAYWRIGHT: Look, I'll make some plays. I swear. Then this play won't even make any sense as there will be no Playless Titles.
BETSY: You bore me.
PLAYWRIGHT: Tomorrow night. I swear Betsy.
BETSY: You have more false promises than Ben Franklin has kites.
PLAYWRIGHT: That didn't even happen yet. And he probably only has one kite. It's a lame joke.
BETSY: Well, you didn't happen yet and you're a lame joke - so there.
PLAYWRIGHT: Look, I'll do a play every day. Only three people are reading my blog anyway so who cares?
BETSY: That's three too many with the shit you're pulling here.
PLAYWRIGHT: Betsy, that's just cruel.
BETSY: You have more complaints than Paris Hilton has drunken hookups.
PLAYWRIGHT: Okay, that definitely didn't happen yet.
BETSY: It will. Clean up your act Campbell or I'll clean it up for you.

BLACKOUT

#16: A BIRTHDAY HAIRCUT

(Lights up. A busy Philadelphia sidewalk. Dozens of people enter and exit, going about their daily routine. Butchers, bakers, slaves, priests, children, dogs, everyone - all preoccupied with their tasks at hand. None of them notice BETSY.)

BETSY: Like my haircut? I thought I'd try something new for the big day. Do you think it's too Old School? Is it too poofy?

(Silence.)

BETSY: Sir, you dropped your - Miss, your chicken! - Hey, watch where you're stepping!

(Silence.)

BETSY: Worst birthday ever.

BLACKOUT

#15: FALLING BEHIND ON PLAYS ALREADY

(Music plays. Lights up. The PLAYWRIGHT sits at his laptop. He searches the internet for an image of a trash can full of crumpled papers. He finds it, crops it and coverts it to black and white. He types the words "Falling Behind on Plays Already" in all capital letters. He cries a single tear of disappointment and decides to eat some food and drink a beer. He thinks about how BETSY needs to be in every play and how she's not yet in this one. "What does that mean?", he thinks to himself. "Does she really need to be?"; "Who even cares?"; "What does it all mean?".)

PLAYWRIGHT: So many thoughts...

(He continues to think. Soon, he is half-way finished with the bag of Tostitos, the jar of Tostitos Queso Con Salsa and the bottle of Yuengling. He is visibly fatter. He looks in the mirror and sees his fatty reflection. Standing behind him there seems to be a ghost: BETSY ROSS' ghost. He turns around to catch her walking spirit in the actual room and prove that she exists not merely in the mirror. But she's not there. He is alone and ghostless. He puts a chip in his mouth, closes the jar of Queso Con Salsa and realizes that it is actually called Salsa Con Queso. This makes more sense but it is not as funny.)

PLAYWRIGHT: Hmm. Salsa Con Queso.

(He clicks "Publish Post" on his nice new Dell computer that his friend won in a Scavenger Hunt and sold to him at a killer price. He goes to sleep.)

BLACKOUT

#14: AMERICANA TALES 2: BETSY MEETS JAZZ

(Lights up. A smoke-filled low-lit jazz club. BETSY sits alone with a gin and tonic in one hand and her heart in the other. It’s 2 a.m. She is not impressed. A JAZZ MAN stands at his piano. His jacket is tossed aside. Sweat drips from his brow. He is making music and singing. We should not question how BETSY manages to travel through time and space like this but rather begin to accept it as fact.)

BETSY: (Heckling) These words are not words!
JAZZ MAN: (Singing) Bebop bebop.
BETSY: Sloppy.
JAZZ MAN: Shoo-deee-oooo-beee!
BETSY: Infantile.
JAZZ MAN: Shoo-deee-oooo-BEEE!!
BETSY: Redundant even. (then quickly:) Redundant even. Get it?!
JAZZ MAN: Heeby-ja-bopbopbop-BA.

(A TRUMPET PLAYER appears from behind a curtain mimicking the tune of the JAZZ MAN’s most recent scat. He plays loudly and directly into BETSY’S face. She drops her cocktail on the table and covers her ears.)

BETSY: I prefer baseball any day.

(A TROMBONE PLAYER pops up from a trap door on the floor. His music is louder and bolder. The musicians are ecstatic and welcome him with “Hey’s” and “Ha’s”. BETSY is repulsed.)

BETSY: Check please.
JAZZ MAN: Five drink minimum starry 'n stripes. Keep drinking.
BETSY: Bollox.

(A spotlight appears and all focus goes to ELLA, a sultry Jazz goddess. She sings a self-indulgent parody of “My Funny Valentine”. She is prodigious: moving us with her dynamic range and soothing tones.)

ELLA: My funny Valentine.
Sweet, complaining Valentine.
You make me smile with your flag.
Your threads are red-white blue.
Very sexy woven through.
Yet you sorta make me gag.

BETSY: Well I’ve never –

(BETSY stands and goes to leave, but the TROMBONE PLAYER threatens her (playfully) with his trombone, thus forcing her to sit again.)

ELLA: Is your Betsy more than Ross?
Are you rock or just mere moss?
If Georgie threw you - no worse – toss
‘d you, would you sink?
Would you sink?

(Big Finish with the whole quartet.)

JAZZ MAN: Sinkinty sinkity sinksink-sink!
ELLA: Yeah!

TROMBONE PLAYER: Smooth.
TRUMPET PLAYER: Cool cats are around.
JAZZ MAN: You do it every time Ella.

(The JAZZ MAN and ELLA embrace passionately.)

BETSY: If this is America, count me out.

(The JAZZ MAN and ELLA continue their embrace. The TRUMPET PLAYER and the TROMBONE PLAYER put their gaze on each other then on BETSY. BETSY drinks gin.)

BLACKOUT

#13: HIGH STANDARDS

(An empty stage. BETSY enters and stands firmly. She looks serious. Real serious.)

BETSY: Alright girls. Bring them out!

(Four WOMEN come marching in from offstage and form a line. They stop and turn in formation. They stare downstage stoicly. BETSY approaches WOMAN #1.)

BETSY: Unroll you flag.
WOMAN #1: Unrolling my flag.
BETSY: Unrolling your flag, what?
WOMAN #1: Betsy. Unrolling my flag Betsy!

(WOMAN #1 unrolls her flag. It's a woven cartoonlike picture of George Washington giving the thumbs up sign.)

BETSY: Too Juvenile.

(BETSY pushes WOMAN 1 off the line and perhaps to the ground. She approaches WOMAN #2.)

BETSY: Unroll your flag.
WOMAN #2: Unrolling my flag Betsy!

(It's stuck. She can't unroll it. BETSY is not pleased.)

WOMAN #2: It's stuck. I, the flag. It's stuck.
BETSY: 1... 2... 2 and half...

(BETSY raises her arms as to push the woman down to the ground. The flag miraculously unrolls. It's the silhouettes of many types of people holding hands. The letters USA are written with sewn flowers.)

BETSY: Too flitty. And so not Betsy.

(BETSY snaps her fingers and the woman falls to the ground out of fear. BETSY approaches WOMAN #3.)

BETSY: Unroll your flag.

WOMAN #3: I've been waiting for this moment for three grueling months.

(WOMAN #3 unrolls her flag. It's the words "BETSY ROSS IS A FRAUD" surrounded by stars and stripes. The other women gasp. BETSY begins a slow clap.)

BETSY: Done with your little show? When it's all said and done, who will they believe? Me or you?

WOMAN #3: You're a fraud.

BETSY: The Crusades ended a few centuries ago honey. You're a little late.

(BETSY grabs the flag and wraps it around WOMAN #3's head, blinding and confusing her. BETSY kicks her in the rear and she goes flying offstage. The others watch in disbelief.)

BETSY: Unroll your flag.

WOMAN #4: Don't hurt me.

(She unrolls the flag. It is Old Glory. Amazing craftmanship, color and design. It's flawless. BETSY stares, smiles and grabs it.)

BETSY: I sewed it. I finally sewed it.

WOMAN #4: But Betsy. I worked so hard and I -

BETSY: You're free. You're all free. I finally finished the flag. I no longer need you.

WOMAN #4: That's it - after three months - this is how it ends?

(BETSY throws the flag around her body like a cape or coat and models it in front of an imaginary mirror.)

BETSY: This is how it ends and how I begin. So long girls. Watch out boys. Here I come.

BLACKOUT

#12: AMERICANA TALES: BETSY MEETS BASEBALL

(Lights up. Bleecher seats in a baseball stadium somewhere. BETSY holds a cardboard tray with hot dogs, a pretzel, a large Beer, and some Cracker Jacks. Lots of mustard packs and extraneous plastic utensils. She sits next to a giant, costumed MASCOT. He's an odd duck; literally. He cannot speak words, so he communicates his lines with duck gestures. In production, maybe subtitles for the audience or some other fancy solution as BETSY rarely "hears" him correctly but the audience knows what he's actually "saying".)

BETSY: Well that was certainly an experience.
MASCOT: (Yep.)
BETSY: Is it always so expensive?
MASCOT: (Yes.)
BETSY: I spent all my flag commission already.
MASCOT: (Well, apparently you're eating for four.)
BETSY: Oh stop it! You're not overweight.
MASCOT: (You misunderstood. It degrades me to speak like this, but I'll lose my job if I speak.)
BETSY: More mustard?? I don't know, maybe in a bit. I wanna catch some of "the game" first.
MASCOT: (If you made an effort to actually understand my skilled gestures instead of just assuming you know what I am trying to communicate, it might actually work out.)
BETSY: Enough with the mustard already. And thank you, I sewed it myself.
MASCOT: (I'm not talking about mustard.)
BETSY: Baseball? In the 18th century? No way Jose!
MASCOT: (Don't call me by my real name. I signed a contract.)
BETSY: I love the way the salt is everywhere on the pretzel. And you can just scrape it off onto the ground like it's nothing. Woosh, watch it fly!
MASCOT: (Someone will have to clean up after you. You're making a mess. It's insensitive.)
BETSY: Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes!

(BETSY rids her hands of food products and joins "the wave". She's stiff and scientific about it, but nonetheless, having the time of her life.)

BETSY: The adrenaline, wow. This is something.
MASCOT: (You're supposed to sit down now Betsy. It's over. That's the way it works.)
BETSY: I know you have wings and not arms, you don't have to keep telling me. You're a duck, I get it!
MASCOT: (It's on days like this one that I remind myself: I am an artist. I do this job for the health insurance.)
BETSY: It's touching. It really is. To know that something you were a part of can balloon and or snowball into something like this.
MASCOT: (I know you'll misunderstand me. But I have no idea what you're talking about. Not even a clue.)
BETSY: Oh, I hear you loud and clear. This: America's pastime!. You wouldn't be here today dressed like a giant duck and I wouldn't be here collecting my free poncho and getting drunk had the forefathers - and myself! - not come before us.
MASCOT: (I wouldn't mind not being here dressed as a giant duck. Believe me.)
BETSY: I'm just saying. Old America (me!) made New America. Which made baseball.
MASCOT: (America also made college. You could benefit from it.)
BETSY: No I can't stay. This is just a visit. There's so much more Americana for me to explore.
MASCOT: (The sooner you leave, the sooner I get my nicotine.)
BETSY: I made a drunken promise I would explore it all and explore it all I shall: Superman. Jazz music. Cowboys. Quesadillas.
MASCOT: (Not Americana.)
BETSY: Hey, I'm Betsy Ross. I designed a flag and by default define Americana and what I say goes. And I say Quesadillas.
MASCOT: (Quack Quack.)
BETSY: (To the field:) You call that SAFE!?!? You're blind!
MASCOT: (The game hasn't started yet Betsy...)
BETSY: Yeah tell him whose boss, #3. (Swept away in her own enthusiasm) The Ducks win the pennant! The Ducks win the pennant.
MASCOT: (We're barely minor league.)
BETSY: You read my mind. I want a funnel cake!

(BETSY darts off spilling drinks and food on her way out. The MASCOT produces a cigarette and lighter from a duck pocket on his duck costume. He lights it and finds a way to awkwardly inhale through his over-sized bill. As the "National Anthem" begins to play, he smokes and scratches himself.)

FADE TO BLACKOUT

#11: BEFORE THERE WAS CRAIGSLIST

(BETSY and a POTENTIAL RENTER enter the now abandoned 2nd floor study of her Philadelphia townhouse.)

POTENTIAL RENTER: Oh, Of course. I'm the epitome of tidy!
BETSY: (throwing a bunch of sewing supplies everywhere as a test) So this is the room.
POTENTIAL RENTER: (Picking up all the supplies out of sheer instinct) Oh, it's gorgeous. I could really see myself here.
BETSY: Not so fast. What sort of hours do you keep?
POTENTIAL RENTER: Some could say I'm a night person -
BETSY: AHA! I'm afraid that just won't do. (Opening the door) Good-bye and good luck.
POTENTIAL RENTER: But they'd be fibbing!
BETSY: (closing the door) Fibbing? So you're a (gulp) morning person?
POTENTIAL RENTER: (overlapping) morning person!
BETSY/POTENTIAL RENTER: (put off) Just like me... / (giddy) Just like you!
BETSY: So, you're tidy and you're a morning person, yes my girl, but whether or not you wind up renting my study is predicated on a lot more than that. Believe me. This is not tea and cookies. This is real life. REAL. This is complex.
POTENTIAL RENTER: Oh I almost forgot, here are the handwritten references you asked for in your announcement.
BETSY: I'll examine them later... (unsuccessful scare tactic) with my attorney!
POTENTIAL RENTER: You know, the writing on your poster at the tobacconist was so small. I had to put on my fancy glasses to read it. It's almost as if you didn't want anyone to be able to read it.
BETSY: (lying) Poppycock! That would be foolish. Of course I wanted people to read it. I want the whole world applying to live her.
POTENTIAL RENTER: That's what I suspected. Everyone else said you were just being (whispering) the S word! And that you secretly wanted this big old house all for yourself.
BETSY: The S word?
POTENTIAL RENTER: S - E - L - F - I - S - H. (She giggles a giggle.)
BETSY: (not wanting to be caught) Wha, why, who, now who who could suspect such a thing? Why would silly little me want a whole big nice spacious house to myself when people like you are hopping off the boat each month and moving to Philadelphia looking to take my home? Selfish! Never never never never never.
POTENTIAL RENTER: King Lear, Act Five! "Never never never never never".
BETSY: NO THEATRICS IN THIS HOUSE!
POTENTIAL RENTER: Brava! I love when you pretend to be mad. It's good, it's sweet.
BETSY: Listen to me and listen to me good...
POTENTIAL RENTER: We're going to be besties Betsy. I can sense it.

(Beat. Betsy's terrified of the idea. She's getting inexplicably desperate. As if she doesn't even know why this scene is happening. Maybe no one does.)

BETSY: (Out of nowhere and overacted) OH MY! Did you hear that?!?
POTENTIAL RENTER: No, hear what? (suddenly serious) Oh no, I get it. You passed gas. Well, you're excused. Those biscuits take no prisoners.
BETSY: No you stupid thing! I need privacy!
POTENTIAL RENTER: Betsy, you're so funny! I love you.

(She goes to hug her.)

BETSY: Don't touch. Now listen closely. The walls. In the walls. It's the bugs, the termites.
POTENTIAL RENTER: Termites? I hear nothing.
BETSY: That's because they - they just stopped. That's right. All of them. All five hundred - no thousand no million. All five million of them. In the walls of this room. The room you want is infested with killer bugs. I knew I overlooked something in the advertisement of this room. Sorry. Have a good life!
POTENTIAL RENTER: Termites in here? Never. The wood's solid. You are one for the keeping, Betsy Ross.
BETSY: Betsy Ross... (New idea:) So right here, the murder happened like this. (She demonstrates senseless stabbing.) The blood went there. We cleaned most of it. The killer was never caught. Left a note saying he - OR SHE - would be back to kill again. Ten stab wounds in her sleep. She - the victim - looked a lot like you - YES SHE DID.
POTENTIAL RENTER: Murder? Blood? Sleep? What will you think of next! You're so FUN! And FUNNY!
BETSY: (thinking of a way to send her packing) I bring the horse up here to bathe it. Hourly. On the hour every hour. I scrub it. And it smells. Bigtime.
POTENTIAL RENTER: I love horses, I'll do it whenever you don't feel up to it.
BETSY: (trying harder) They say the British left some gunpowder hidden in the walls and just a slight lightning storm or burning candle or noise even could explode the whole room at any moment. KABOOM!
POTENTIAL RENTER: What God wants God will deliver. Amen. I'll go get my jammies.
BETSY: Wait!

(BETSY grabs her by the wrist. The POTENTIAL RENTER freezes.)

POTENTIAL RENTER: Aw, I get it. I get it Betsy.
BETSY: You do.... ?
POTENTIAL RENTER: Of course. I can see what you are trying to do. And you are so unbelievably... sweet!
BETSY: No sweet no sweet. Unsweet. Unsweet roommate!
POTENTIAL RENTER: Tomorrow morning first thing we'll bake a cake. Then you can teach me to sew. Then after tea, singing! It can be like friends do in books.
BETSY: I have malaria!!!
POTENTIAL RENTER: I'll go make soup.
BETSY: I'm f*cking George Washington. I'll hang!
POTENTIAL RENTER: I won't tell a soul.
BETSY: Ugga-poka-Hiss!!! I'm a witch!
POTENTIAL RENTER: You're so complex and layered. I love it.

(She bear hugs BETSY.)

POTENTIAL RENTER: I love you. We're going to best friends forever and ever and ever! I will never leave.

BETSY: (slow turn to the audience) H - E - L - P (Beat.) M - E (Beat.) S - I - G - H (She sighs a desperate sigh of defeat.)

(and...)

BLACKOUT

#10: HURRICANE BETSY

(September 1965. Grand Isle, Louisiana. SAM DELERAY, 40, and his son ALEX, 11, stare out at the Gulf. Hurricane Betsy is regaining strength off the coast and approaching.)

ALEX: Those waves are too big Dad.
SAM: We'll be okay. Waves ain't guns.

ALEX: Listen to 'em.
SAM: (impressed) Once in a lifetime. Look at that...
ALEX: We need to go.
SAM: We'll be okay. No storm is movin' us.
ALEX: ...
SAM: Alex, you hear me? No storm is movin' us.
ALEX: This one's different.
SAM: My parents didn't take me runnin' at ev'ry drop of rain, Al. And I turned out alright, didn't I?
ALEX: This one's different. Can't you tell?

(BETSY appears suddenly and without effort, as if... from nowhere.)

BETSY: (over the wind) The Beach is closed gentlemen!
ALEX: See dad. see! Sorry, we were just leavin'.
SAM: Now everyone calm down, hold yer horses. I'm showin' my boy this. You mind your bee's wax, we'll mind ours.
BETSY: The beach is closed. It's my duty to tell you this.
SAM: It's my duty to say we'll leave when we want to leave.
BETSY: I'm just the messenger.
SAM: Didn't your shift end or somethin'? We don't need the Beach Patrol dictatin' our ev're move. You ruinin' this here.
ALEX: Dad, she seems serious.
BETSY: Move inland. Hesitate no more.

SAM: Man! Look at those waves, Al.
ALEX: (with urgency) Dad, we need to go.
SAM: Once in a lifetime!
ALEX: Dad, this isn't normal. We should pack then drive.
SAM: No horizon. Feel the air. This'll be a recordbreaker!

ALEX: (frustrated) Do something!
BETSY: Me? I tried.
ALEX: Try again.
BETSY: I'm just the messenger.
AELX: It's your job!

(BETSY nods. She approaches SAM, leans in and whispers. The winds slow while she speaks.)

BETSY: You will leave this beach. This storm will be worse than you think. You will save your son and yourself. He will be grateful. You will want to thank me. You will never see me again.
SAM: (Speechless) I -
BETSY: Twice in a lifetime for you. Twice in a lifetime for him. Leave now Sam.
SAM: Who are you?

(No response. The winds return.)

SAM: Alex, stop playin' around. We gotta pack some things before the roads go out.
ALEX: Let's go. Thanks, whatever you said must have - (He stops dead in his tracks.) She's gone! That lady's gone.
SAM: Yeah, so she is. So she is. We should go.

(They turn to leave and the flashlight of the BEACH PATROL, a female officer, catches their eyes.)

BEACH PATROL: The Beach is closed gentleman. Storm's gonna be huge. Gotta leave.
ALEX: We know. She was just here.
BEACH PATROL: Who was what now?
ALEX: She didn't have a uniform like you, but the lady told us.
BEACH PATROL: Lady! You seein' ghosts? I'm the only one stupid enough to be searchin' this beach. Now lets move it!
ALEX: Sorry. Ready dad?
SAM: ... ready ...
BEACH PATROL: Once in a century they say. Once in a lifetime.

(The BEACH PATROL extends her hand and exits with SAM. ALEX stares at the horizon. He turns his head quickly over his shoulder. He hears something, but it's just the wind.)

SAM: Bring it on Betsy. You're not takin' us today.

(SAM runs off to catch up with ALEX. The winds pick up.)

BLACKOUT

#9: IT WAS HER PARTY

(Philadelphia. The morning after a huge party at BETSY'S house. Lights up on BETSY and the DRUNKEN NEIGHBOR WHO SPENT THE NIGHT ON THE COUCH:)

BETSY: What a great night last night was. So many people came to my party.
DRUNKEN NEIGHBOR WHO SPENT THE NIGHT ON THE COUCH: I drank too much ale. Who came Betsy?
BETSY: (reciting from memory) Mr. MacPherson, Mr. Heysham, Mr. Wilcox, Mr. Bushell, Ms. Ashburn, Leslie, the Dorsey's, John Gardin, Buchard 1: Andrew Buchard, Buchard 2: Thomas Buchard, Mr. Neil Cummins, Mr. Claypoole, Widow Ford, Harvey Sampson - THAT DRUNK! - William Sellers, Mr. Owen, Ms. Jacob, Ms. Crysler, William Heysham, Mr. Alexander Wilcox - I think I alreasdy said him - John Gibbons, William Ashby, age 97, James Wilson and wife, William Niles and mistress, Jonathan Worrell, Mr. Wing - Oh, I so wish he left earlier! - Thomas Carmalt, Mary Smith - boring name if you ask me - Mr. William Montgomery, Joseph B. McKean, Esq., James Lewis, Widow Gideon and that weird guy Joseph.
DNWSTNOTC: Who was after Mr. Owen?
BETSY: Ms. Jacob.
DNWSTNOTC: Ashby's 97?
BETSY: Last Tuesday.
DNWSTNOTC: You're a social butterfly Betsy.
BETSY: Um, thanks. I think.
DNWSTNOTC: It's good. People know you.
BETSY: Mr. Wing was snooping in my jewelry and personal things. Well at least that's what Jon Worrell told John Gibbons.
DNWSTNOTC: Who told you.
BETSY: Bingo. I swear if as much as a cent's worth of anything is missing from this house, I am blaming him.
DNWSTNOTC: Him?
BETSY: Wing!

(Pause.)

DNWSTNOTC: Come lie with me on the sofa.
BETSY: Philip! You still smell like ale!
DNWSTNOTC: Please?
BETSY: I have to clean up and there's-
DNWSTNOTC: Please...

(Pause. BETSY's tone changes.)

BETSY: Butterfly? Nice try.
DNWSTNOTC: I just think it's time.
BETSY: Oh do you? John's been gone less than a year.
DNWSTNOTC: And a year is a long time. Everyone at the party thinks it's time.
BETSY: Well, I'm glad you took a vote. What - is every goddamn thing done with democracy now? Real nice Philip.
DNWSTNOTC: We just think you could afford to move on.
BETSY: Move on? How does one move on from a gunpowder explosion. Enlighten me.
DNWSTNOTC: Betsy, you say it as if you were there.
BETSY: Look, I saw him. You didn't.
DNWSTNOTC: You can't use John's death as an excuse forever. Get out and do something. Enough with the parties.
BETSY: You like my parties.
DNWSTNOTC: I just think it's time you moved on, that's all I'm saying B.

(Pause.)

BETSY: I'm going to go clean up in the kitchen. Mr. Bushel punctured a grain bag and I don't want it to stick.
DNWSTNOTC: I'll be here on the couch. When you get back.
BETSY: I can't Philip.
DNWSTNOTC: Okay. But I'll be here.

(Pause.)

BETSY: I have to go sweep up grain. Thanks for coming to the party.

(BETSY exits to the kitchen. DRUNKEN NEIGHBOR WHO SPENT THE NIGHT ON THE COUCH lies back down on the couch and stares at the ceiling.)

BLACKOUT

#8: THE SPEECH: PART II

(Noon. The next day. The Lower School. Twenty children are dressed in neat colonial school uniforms. BETSY enters from the outside and stands in the front of the room. The children clap mindlessly. BETSY is visibly and disproportionally terrified.)

BETSY: Good morning children. Ms. White was kind enough to to - to ask me to speak to you today about my career, sewing... which is my career. So here I am. Ta-da! (Silence.) What I thought I would do is give you a little history of sewing so you can know more about it. It being sewing. So I threw together a quick little speech on the way over, so I won't leave anything out. Don't want to do that, right kids? (Silence.) Okay, so without any further ado: my speech that I wrote by myself on the way over here. It's about sewing.

(BETSY removes the speech from her pocket. She is extremely nervous and reads word for word from the tightly clutched pages in her hands. She rarely looks up and reads without emotion or meaning.)

"Sewing is the stitching of cloth, leather, furs, bark or other materials using needle and thread. Look up at the kids and warn them. Be careful kids when stitching bark that you do not say the word bark too often out loud or you might be mistaken for a dog. Take a moment to let this joke land and then if you feel comfortable, bark like a dog for added effect. Bark! Now you'll really have them."

CHILD: You're weird.
CHILD: Are you talking to us?

BETSY: "Sewing predates the weaving of cloth. Sewing is used primarily to produce clothing and household furnishings as curtains, bedclothes, upholstery, and table linens. It is also used for sails, bellows, skin boats, banners and other items shaped out of flexible materials such as canvas and leather. Betsy, take a minute here to look around the room and quietly point out three or four things that were made by sewing. You of all people will have no trouble locating them, so this is where you can really shine and get over any or all nerves. Once you've done this, say: Darn, lots of clothing and curtains in here, but no sails or bedclothes. I guess insert teacher's name here won't be allowing any naps on a boat anytime soon, now will we insert teacher's name again? Because if there were bedclothes and sails in here, that would be the only logical conclusion."

CHILD: You make little sense when you speak Ms. Ross
CHILD: At first you make sense for a bit when you talk about sewing, then you say some weird things to yourself and make stupid jokes that are not funny.
CHILD: And then she says more weird things...
MS. WHITE: Now kids. Let's give her a chance.

BETSY: (more nervous than ever) "Plain sewing is done for functional reasons: making or mending clothing or household linens. Fancy sewing is primarily decorative, including techniques such as shirring, smocking, embroidery, or quilting. Can you imagine if this was one big word shirrsmockembquilting? Who wants to come up to the front of the class and write that word on the board. Lots of children will raise their hands because children love silly words almost as much as they love silly challenges. Now say Whoa whoa children calm down. Since so many of you want to do this and because I am fair, we can all do it together."

(BETSY looks up. Not a single child is raising their hand. They sit cross-armed and are not pleased.)

MS. WHITE: Ben, go write that word on the board.
CHILD: No way, make Sarah do it.
CHILD: No way, it's not even a real word. We're not learning a thing.

"A sewing needle is a long slender object with a pointed tip. Pull out a needle Betsy and show the class. Hopefully you got my reminder note not to forget to bring a needle."

(BETSY searches her pockets; it's clear that she forgot the needle. Back to the page:)

"The first sewing needles were made of bone or wood. Now make yourself look a creepy monster and say to the kids: who wants to give me their bones so I can sew? Kids love monsters almost as much as they love silly words and challenges, so they will absolutely love this."

(Absolute silence.)

CHILD: Ms. White, I hear my mom calling. I need to run. I'll be back when Ms. Ross is done.
CHILD: And I promised my dad I'd stop by the butcher before he closes which is soon, so I too have to run. I'll be back right after Ms. Ross leaves.
CHILD: The five of us don't feel well. We're going to run to the alchemist.
CHILD: Make that six.

MS. WHITE: Run along kids. (clearly improvising:) The rest of you don't want to be late for that important meeting with the headmaster, so run along.
CHILD: What headmaster?
MS. WHITE: I said run along!

(The kids pack up their books and supplies. One by one they run past BETSY and then out the door:)

BETSY: "Yarn is a long continuous length of interlocked fibers, suitable for use in the production of textiles, sewing, crocheting, knitting, weaving, embroidery and ropemaking. That reminds me of that classic song: Yarn is a long continuous length of interlocked fibers, suitable for use in the production of textiles, sewing, crocheting, knitting, weaving, embroidery and ropemaking. Remember that one kids?"

(All the kids are gone. MS. WHITE stares at BETSY, then at the door. Then again at BETSY, then again at the door. MS. WHITE makes a b-line for the outside world. She is gone. BETSY stands alone. She's still very nervous. THE APPRENTICE comes running in to the schoolhouse.)

THE APPRENTICE: Betsy! All the kids were laughing and running down the road. They loved it! We're a success. I can't wait to tell Glen! Don't lose the original copy, it's going to be worth a lot once my writing career takes off.

(BETSY spots a candle. She pulls out a match and lights it. BETSY burns the speech. THE APPRENTICE stares in disbelief.)

THE APPRENTICE: Betsy!
BETSY: I am still your mentor and you still have a job at my tailor shop. Not!

(BETSY drops the lit papers and storms out of the room. THE APPRENTICE runs over to salvage her precious speech.)

SLOW FADE AND THEN BLACKOUT